


gonna be the day

by kosy



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Gen, Moving In Together, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, and they were roommates (and best friends and bandmates), im a 'mike and jaylen bffs' truther, they're both like. college aged at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosy/pseuds/kosy
Summary: “No, nope, no, that’s maybe the worst set of lyrics I’ve ever heard—”“You’re just allergic to love songs. And joy, apparently,” Mike said, crossing his arms sullenly and flopping back against the sofa.Jaylen rolled her eyes and plucked out awhomp whomp waaaaaaaahon her guitar, which didn’t work quite as well as it might have with a trombone but still made Mike kick at her halfheartedly. “I’m not allergic to love songs or joy; I’m allergic to you comparing boys you like to fucking—burning roseswitheyes like ice.”
Relationships: Jaylen Hotdogfingers & Mike Townsend
Comments: 19
Kudos: 44





	gonna be the day

**Author's Note:**

> once again am imploring you all to consider: mike and jaylen Friends. and they have been Friends for a while. here's them midway thru college! i doubt their fun little pipe dream about starting a band will come to anything important :)

“No, nope, no, that’s maybe the worst set of lyrics I’ve ever heard—” 

“You’re just allergic to love songs. And joy, apparently,” Mike said, sullenly crossing his arms and flopping back against the sofa.

Jaylen rolled her eyes and plucked out a  _ whomp whomp waaaaaaaah  _ on her guitar, which didn’t work quite as well as it might have with a trombone but still made Mike kick at her halfheartedly. “I’m not allergic to love songs or joy; I’m allergic to you comparing boys you like to fucking— _ burning roses _ with  _ eyes like ice.”  _

“Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that,” he grumbled. 

“It sounds stupid because it is stupid,” she informed him. 

“Never mind, band cancelled—” 

“You love me for my honesty!” she protested. “And seriously, dude, your lyrics are good, you’re just a mess whenever you start trying to describe your crushes. Like, you regress back to Mrs. Hayes’ poetry unit type of shit, and that was, what, tenth grade?” 

“Ninth, and also fuck you.” 

She put up her hands. “Jesus, I’ll lay off if you want to, but—” 

“Well, what’s your genius idea, then?” he said, tugging the acoustic guitar they reluctantly share custody of out of her hands and settling back onto his side of the sofa, picking out a few experimental power chords. 

Jaylen snorted. “Oh, I don’t have any. You’re the lyrics guy.” 

“Seeing as you’ve vetoed all of mine, I feel like I’ve been pretty effectively fired,” he reasoned, then started strumming something dogged and absurdly melancholy. Drama queen. 

She sighed and swung her legs up onto the couch over his knees, and he instantly kicked her off and thwacked his foot down onto her thigh. “Owwww,” she complained. When no apology was forthcoming, she continued, only a little disgruntled, “Look, I can’t write lyrics for shit, I kinda need to collaborate with you on this.”    


“Soooo... you’re sorry?” he asked pointedly. 

“...yes. I mean, I’m right, but yes.” 

“Mm. Convincing as always.” 

“Yeah, I do my best.” 

Mike sighed. “Couldn’t we get Allison in on this? I think she’s pretty good.” 

“What, Abbott? Like, the poli sci blonde?” She considered. “Actually, I didn’t even know she did music.” 

“‘Cause you never talk to anybody.” 

Jaylen frowned at him. “I talk to people.” 

“Not like that you don’t,” he said, which—fair. She talked to people, but not casually. It wasn’t like she  _ tried _ to shut people out; it was just kind of what happened. Something about her didn’t really. Invite conversation, or whatever. She was  _ trying _ to get better, alright? It was probably the resting bitch face that was the problem. Not at all like Mike, who always looked sorta wide-eyed and earnest regardless of whatever he was actually feeling. People didn’t tend to like him, sure, but they trusted him on sight. 

She shook her head. “Fine. What does she play, anyway?” 

His face scrunched up. “Um. She gave me her Soundcloud, but I haven’t actually checked much of it out, so. I wanna say drums though? Also, like, intramural blaseball, but I don’t think that’s what you’re going for. Oooh, that reminds me, did you hear someone’s trying to reform the Le—” 

“And you want us to go to her for  _ songwriting _ tips?”

Mike kicked at her again and said, “I dunno, it was just an idea.” 

Jaylen tapped her fingers on the arm of the couch thoughtfully. “Actually, having a drummer in our band would probably be smart.” 

He rolled his eyes. “We’ve only been an official band for like two hours and you’re already tired of playing with me?” 

Jaylen squinted at him. “Uh. No? I just think one singular acoustic guitar isn’t gonna cut it for us, probably,” she said. “If you don’t wanna invite her, that’s chill. I’m just, like, saying. I’m not gonna kick you out after we get a drummer. That’d be fuckin’ stupid, dude, it’s  _ our _ band.” 

“We still don’t have a name,” Mike pointed out. “Not much of a band.”    


She snorted and gestured at their spare, barely-unpacked apartment, the aforementioned one singular acoustic guitar, and the crumpled balls of notebook paper covered in scribbled out lyrics littering the stained beige carpet. “We’ll get there when we get there, dude. Figure it out as we go. Clearly that’s kind of our brand.” 

“No shit,” he muttered, strummed an E minor. He glared at the guitar, which had somehow gone out of tune between then and the last time he had touched it.

Jaylen watched him fiddle with the tuning pegs for a couple seconds, then nudged at him with her toe. “Hey, you’re still all in, right?” 

He lifted his head and idly muted the guitar strings with his palm. “Huh?” 

“You still wanna do this, right?” she asked, and he blinked at her. “The moving in and the band and stuff.”

“I mean, yeah. Of course I do, Jay.” 

“Just checking,” she mumbled, relaxing back into the cushions. “I don’t want to, like, push you into something you don’t want to do, y’know?” 

“Well, thanks,” he said. “But I  _ did _ agree to be here. Like, I helped carry the couch up four flights of stairs. If I was gonna back out of this at any point, it would’ve been before I had to do that.” 

She’d been the one to ask him to move in with her in the end. Look, it’d been kinda ridiculous back when they’d been living on campus. Technically, Jaylen’d had a roommate in her dorm, but Mike was there more often than not, and they’d spent most afternoons back in high school playing Mario Kart in his basement, and they always registered for classes together even once they hit college because they both ended up as music majors, and they’d bought a guitar with their pooled money freshman year ‘cause they were both broke as hell back then and couldn’t afford a nice one alone. At a certain point it was straight up dumb to be living in different places, and Jaylen knew that, and that was why she asked him. It was just the logical conclusion. She’d been nervous that he’d say no anyway. She wasn’t very good with, like… friends. Always well-liked, sure, popular even, but that wasn’t the same as—

“Sick, just figured I’d make sure,” she said. “‘Cause I’m not sharing Jenny if you move out.” 

Mike gasped indignantly.  _ “What? _ Dude, no, you can’t take our guitar in the divorce. I paid just as much for her as you did—” 

“I’d take her  _ and _ make you pay child support,” she grinned.

“You’re fucking heartless.” 

“Well, at least I don’t write songs about burning rose boys with ice eyes, or whatever the fuck it was—”

“Fine, so it was a stupid lyric,” he groaned, dropping his head back. “All your stupid gay songs are equally stupid and gay.” 

“Such is the way of stupid gay songs,” she agreed, still smiling, then heaved a put-upon sigh. “Okay, fine, we both get a stupid gay song for our first album, but we get veto power over each other’s shitty lyrics.” 

“Fair enough,” Mike conceded. 

They sat there quietly for another ten minutes, Mike messing around with some of the more interesting chord progressions he half-remembered, Jaylen watching the late afternoon light move slowly across the floor of their apartment (and the thought that something is  _ theirs _ sends an embarrassing thrill of excitement through her still) as the sun goes down. It was warm for autumn in Seattle. Nice out, warm enough for a t-shirt without a jacket. They could’ve probably gone for a walk, explored the neighborhood, seen what was worth eating around there, but they could’ve used a reason to finish unpacking their kitchen stuff, and the idea of them cooking the first meal in the new apartment made her smile in spite of herself. 

“What?” Mike asked, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“I’m not laughing at you!” Jaylen said defensively. 

“Yeah, it’d be so wild if you did that,” he deadpanned. “Super out of character.” 

“I would  _ never,” _ she protested, laughing for real, and he snorted and went back to fingerpicking “House Of The Rising Sun,” and she watched him. There were plenty of thing she could’ve said then.  _ Thanks for sticking with me; God knows I wouldn’t’ve hung around me all these years if I had the choice, _ maybe, or  _ I’m glad you’re here, _ or  _ I’m glad we’re somehow friends,  _ or  _ I can’t even imagine anybody else wanting to do this with me. _ Maybe just  _ Thanks _ would’ve been enough for him to get it. 

Jaylen didn’t say any of that, of course. 

Instead, she smacked his leg when the nonsense he was strumming inevitably morphed into “Wonderwall” the way it always fuckin’ seemed to with Mike, and he legitimately  _ yelped, _ this high-pitched little  _ hwahgh! _ of surprise, and she bullied him mercilessly about that for around three minutes, and then they went into the kitchen and dug the pots and pans out of the cardboard box they’d unceremoniously dropped by the fridge earlier that day. They made pasta (or, more accurately, Jaylen made pasta while Mike heckled her about her Pastamaking Technique from where he was perched on the counter pointedly strumming “Never Gonna Give You Up” just ‘cause he knew she hated it even more than “Wonderwall”). 

Together, they ate their dinner in the living room while the sun finally slipped down behind the skyline, and they would’ve watched a movie but neither of them could figure out how to hook up the TV, so instead they stayed up late like they used to back in high school, like little kids at a sleepover, talking until Mike couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore and he fell asleep curled up there on the sofa. His head drooped down to rest on her shoulder, and in the moments before she drifted off too, Jaylen thought  _ Thanks _ again, and she hoped all that was maybe enough to get the idea across just as well. She hoped he knew. 

**Author's Note:**

> i juste love them. that is all. also not to be evil but i DO think it's fun if jaylen and mike cofounded the first iteration of the garages only for mike to get kicked out after she dies lol. OH YEAH the title is from wonderwall because i've decided heavily featuring wonderwall in my fics is part of my silly little brand now. also thanks so much for reading, i hope you liked it! you can find me on tumblr [@fourteenthidol](https://fourteenthidol.tumblr.com), and if you feel inclined to leave a comment or kudos it'd make my day!! <3


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